


Five Years Later

by BeaRyan



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We spent four years at war after we defeated the nanites and the Patriots.  Then we had five more or less peaceful months before Generals Matheson and Monroe disappeared during a survey of the Mexican border." Major character deaths off-screen. The finale has not aired as of this posting.  I'm assuming everyone lives through it, but they don't live through this. Scanlon, President Bennett's best friend and frustrated suitor, needed a first name, so I've named him Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Years Later

"Secretary Scanlon,” Tom says, with his smile that’s really a sneer. “I'm here to see President Bennett." He says it as if Secretary means I make coffee for Connor. I do actually. We like to share a pot during our morning meetings, cups in hand as we discuss the nation we still call Texas despite it having grown far beyond its old borders. We spent four years at war after we defeated the nanites and the Patriots. Then we had five more or less peaceful months before Generals Matheson and Monroe disappeared during a survey of the Mexican border. 

"The President isn't taking visitors today," I tell him. 

"Sitting around mourning his daddy? That's sweet." 

Connor would kill Tom if he heard him talking like that, and Tom and Charlie don't cross paths without a set of guards for each of them. Since the four of us are the only members of the government with any real power, it means I get to bear the brunt of Tom's wit. At least if he's saying it to me he's not saying it to any of his underlings. He has more of them than I’d like. 

"The memorial service for Generals Matheson and Monroe will be at four. I'd advise you to be on time and look sad." 

"Did you even have the balls to tell him this is a stupid ass idea? They died seven month ago. Anyone who thought they were still alive was kidding themselves." 

"We have the bodies now. We're having a service," I tell him. I can't stop myself from saying, "If we ever recover your wife and son's bodies, we'll have services for them, too." 

He blanches just a little bit, recovers, and asks, "When does the parade arrive?"

"The procession should be here at two, but it's been getting bigger and running slower with every stop. The service is at four. Reception immediately after." 

"Good news for the treasury and it will look good for us when it arrives," Tom says and there's that smile, the one that says he knows more than me. It crawls across his face like a caterpillar. I'd like to crush it, but he does understand this one in a way that I just don't. I don't get people who grew up before the blackout. Bonnie said she could make the PR aspect work if we'd agree to take people's money, and damned if she didn't. I don't know why she threw in with us, some days I'm not even sure she did, but when there's a story she wants to cover, like the funeral procession, she makes sure it's worth her time to cover it. She says she likes crafting the truth and being where it's comfortable. I think she just wanted a visa to Mexico. No matter why she did it, it's worked out well for us. 

Merchants can join the procession bringing the bodies back from Mexico for a donation to the Heroes Fund. They can then take half the amount of the donation off their taxes. The thing is, the government runs the Heroes Fund, so basically they're giving us 35 dollars when we only asked for 20 and glad to do it, all while improving trade all along the major north-south route through the state. People are weird. I just hope they remember it's a funeral when they get here. I've heard the bar carts are popular. 

I ignore Tom until he finally seems to believe he's not getting in to see Connor. At least Tom didn't try to shove his way past the honor guard and into the central office. I haven't seen Connor all day. He may not even be in there. We all knew Matheson and Monroe had to be dead by now, but word that Nunez had the bodies hit him hard. At least Nunez admitted it was just bodies and he didn't try to charge us for them. We'd be invading Mexico right now if he'd pulled any crap. 

At three I go into Connor’s office to see if he needs to sober up, change clothes, whatever, before the funeral, but he isn't there. I go out the back door, the secret one behind the bookcase, and take the passage to his apartment. I always want to laugh when I do this cloak and dagger secret passage stuff, we lived in tents at Duncan's camp, but General Monroe had insisted there had to be more than one way out of any room, especially the main offices and our private quarters. I didn't much like that he killed the workmen who built this compound for us, but I do like knowing that if I hear someone busting down my front door I can be running out of Connor's before they ever make it to my bedroom. I remind myself that I need to come back out of Connor's office when we're done, but I don't need to. I never go out his front door. 

It's always touchy walking into someone's apartment from the passage. If they're with guests then you don't want to appear out of nowhere or make noise to give away that you're there when it shouldn't be possible. I've never used the passage into Charlie’s apartment or the Generals’. I don't know that Tom even knows his office has one and his quarters aren’t in the main building. He’s not connected to us in more ways than one. I don't use this route to Connor's when Charlie's in town either, although that seems to have cooled off. She spends as much time on the road building relationships along the border as she can. When we expanded four months ago, it was because a bunch of towns just over the border asked us to take them in. We only burned out the resistors so we could help the people who wanted our help. 

Connor's passage door opens into his closet, and I listen for a minute for voices or movement, but I don't hear anything, so I knock twice, pause, then twice again; our code. 

"Jack?" he calls out. His voice seems unsteady to me, but I don't know that anyone else would hear it. I'm with him all the time. I can read his mood from his posture and the way he holds his glass. Someone has to. He never realizes when he needs a break, when he's pushed himself too hard for too long. 

"Yeah, it's me," I call out and let myself in. He's standing by the window, staring to the east at the farmland. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Making sure you shave. You need to look Presidential. Everyone knows you’ve been running the country on your own for a while, but Bonnie’s bringing photographers. You need to look the part." 

"Lincoln had a beard." 

My stomach tightens at the name. He doesn't usually mention Lincoln until after dark, after his second tequila when he tells me I should just stay, it’s cold, in a pre-electric world it was normal for men to share a bed to stay warm. Lincoln had Josh Speed. I know the book he's been reading has a different take on Lincoln's relationship with Speed. I know this because I gave it to him. We can't have that conversation now. Not just before his father's funeral. 

"Lincoln had a beard. You have a scattered collection of baby hairs that make you look younger than me."

He smiles at that. He has a great smile even if the wrinkles around his eyes are deeper than they used to be. The last few years have been hard on him. The gray has started sprinkling his hair, and, now that he keeps it shorter, they stand out against the black. His beard has never really come in, but it's better than mine. He's 30 now; I'm 25. I think our beards are as good as they're going to get. 

He's only five years older than me, but those particular years make a big difference. He remembers life before the blackout. I don't. He has a lot of definitions of a normal life: with the Bennetts as good Christian pillars of the community, with the Nunez cartel as a god-like local authority, with his dad as warriors for a better world. I only remember living in tents with war clans up until we set up the capital. I don't call us a war clan in front of him. He sees himself as the President of the nation of Texas and the leader of its military. 

He turns to stare at me and my blood runs hot and cold. His intensity scares me and turns me on. I wish it didn't. Sometimes I swear he's just staring me down to see if he can make me pitch a tent in my pants with nothing but a look. He can. I do. And he never says or does a damn thing about it. We’re friends. Just friends. Just good friends. 

"Can I trust you with a blade at my throat?" he asks and I feel my balls draw up. Fight or flight doesn't cover it. Fuck should be in there too. I want to fuck. I am fucked. Fuck you, Connor Bennett. 

"Sir?" I ask, throwing in a title to put some distance between us in this room that is suddenly stiflingly hot despite the cool February air. 

His look turns embarrassed - the real bashful one, not the fake helpless one that threw people off for so long - and he says, "My hand's a little shaky today. I could use some help shaving." 

"I'd be more surprised it you weren't affected," I tell him. 

He sits in the chair, and I lather his face and carefully run the blade over his skin, the gentle pull against the hairs a constant reminder to stay focused on the task, not to press too hard. He doesn’t need nicks in his skin as he’s putting on this show today, mourning his father while convincing his citizens that he really can lead them with the advice of two 20-somethings and one guy who’s worked for every government east of the Rockies. I work my way around his chin, using the towel and the lather brush as needed, using my left hand to position his head and my right to shave him. He was worried about the shake in his own hands. He never considered the tremble he puts into mine.

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun playing with first person and Scanlon's voice, and I know where this would go if I wrote more of it. I have not yet decided if this is a one shot or not.


End file.
